It's amazing how good toast smells when it isn't yours

squal·or (skwlr)
n.

A filthy and wretched condition or quality.

[Latin squlor, from squlre, to be filthy. See squalid.]

I saw squalor again yesterday morning. It looked just like I remembered it. Oddly happy but sad all the same. Being a fairly pensive person for the better part of my life I was aware of squalor and was at that time ashamed of it. I am no longer ashamed that I grew up poor. I realize now I had nothing to do with it and there was no way I could change it. Seeing it again made me remember the good times that squalor brought me.

Little pleasures were big ones. Every smile was a rainbow, everything that went right was a conquest. Every tree in the orchard was my friend and I understood animals and they understood me. My wife refers to my stories of this time in my life as my "Pennsylvania walked to school uphill both ways in the snow" stories and I understand that. They are not by any means believable. For example, the year Star Wars hit the theaters and Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind I was living without electricity, running water, or indoor plumbing. Baths were in a wash tub, like you'd see on the Waltons. The water was heated atop a wood stove and the water was drawn from a well with a bucket. Meals were cooked over a wood cook stove. We were dirty kids. Having to draw one's own bath water from a well in the back yard was not much fun and it certainly didn't happen every day. We had horses, a pig, a cow, and each other. We spent much time shovelling manure. Life was filled with hard work and I only had to do a minute amount of what everyone else was expected to do since I was the youngest and quite small.

I understood our position. All of our neighbors had electricity, water, all of that stuff. All of the kids at school had it too.

This is where my love of bicycles was born. I could get on my bicycle and ride far away where it was just me on my bicycle and no baggage of what I did or didn't have at home. It was the freedom from squalor and the adventure of a little boy. Every bike ride was an epic in my mind with big dreams of going even farther than I had gone on the last ride. Every return trip was a coming home of the victor who had gone forth and explored the world.

To each his own but I wouldn't trade my memories of squalor for anything. Just because we didn't have much doesn't mean we weren't happy. I hope the squalor I saw was as happy as I was.

everyone should work at a porn store

For the first time since my days of squalor and hiding from the man ( ~ 1995 ) I do not have cable, satellite, or any other manner of watching television other than the local news through the rabbit ears.

I miss it not. The wife is beginning to twitch uncontrollably though.

Yeah, I really lived a life of hiding for a while. Let's just say my manner of paying for college was unconventional and considered somewhat less than legal. Damn the man. The man, we'll call him the DEA, showed up at my door. He (while it was really a they) mentioned that someone smelled an illegal (non-harmful) substance coming from my room. I invited them in and went so far as to put the concealed substance in their hands (of course it was inside the container I handed them.) They did not want to search what I handed them so off they went empty handed.

Yes folks, I not only have brass balls but I was as stupid of a person as has ever walked the earth. But it bought me one more day of freedom.

The next day we decided to head to another room for the evening festivities (on another floor.)

Guess who knocked?

Guess who left college that night? Guess who never went back to his room to retrieve his clothes, books, anything? Yeah, that's me.

Stopped by mom's in the middle of the night, informed her she hadn't seen me, told her I'd explain when I could and no, I hadn't hurt anyone. Headed off for the big city to hide for about a year.

I worked for cash for a year. That was the year I worked at the porn shop. Yes, it was mafia run. They were decent to work for. They paid me well and I kept the shop up. No, I didn't have to do cleanup duty. I just ran the register. I never opened any accounts other than what I had to. I had electric service and gas when I needed it but I didn't get a phone or any other non-essential utilities. I didn't buy a car; I didn't have insurance. I watched my back and rode a bicycle where I needed to go. I knew my routes out of town. I knew the dark corners of the neighborhoods and how to utilize them. I made sure my friends knew not to ask questions if I disappeared. Coworkers were not privy to such info. It was a porn shop and I was working for cash. All they needed to know was I'd be there when I was scheduled.

No, girls didn't come in. Well, every now and then on a Saturday night. I remember one couple came in and wanted me to close the shop so the wife could service me while the husband taped it. No go. I wasn't going to lose my job over a few minutes of good time. They gave me directions to their house. No, I didn't ever show up. I was sexually jaded by that point. It was but an act that many people went through.

I don't think everyone should have to hide from the man but I do think everyone should work at a porn store for about a year. It puts things in perspective.

Oh how I've missed you. My sweet, sweet time to postulate and pontificate about the various and sundry things that happen in the course of a day. The time to stop and smell the roses. ...or at least stop and think about the smell of the roses.

Time has been one thing I have not had much of lately. New job, new living quarters, new utility bills (have you seen the price of cable these days?) and all of that jazz.

Pardon me if this seems to be a mental adolescent ejaculation of various topics. Maybe I'll sort it out later but I doubt it.

Cable is expensive. The local company is wanting ~ $60 per month for nothing special. Just cable. No pay channels or anything. Yeah, well DirecTV will hook me up pretty sweet for that kind of jenga. I told the wife we'd go with that but I haven't had time to really hash it out yet so for the time being we have a set of rabbit ears that we move from television to television. It surprises me the differing results we have on the various televisions with it. Odd indeed.

Credit. How is it that I can be approved for a $25,000+ loan for a vehicle but I still have to put a deposit down for electric service. I'm afraid I simply don't understand that.

Other people's kids. We have a kid in the neighborhood who is just a couple years older than our oldest. Mentally they seem to be about the same and physically there's little difference so it's a good pairing. The wife somewhat loathes the new friend. I don't really mind him. He seems ok but she spends quite a bit more time with him than I do. Also, when I don't want him doing something I am quite direct about it. She has her more around the bush sort of way to attack problems and I don't think new kid understands her biting sarcasm yet. Give them time, I say, and they'll be the best of buddies.

Hopefully I will have you back, my precious time. You will be mine -- oh yes, you will be mine.

Order up!

We'll add this to things I don't understand. At a certain McRestaurant I like to order a certain McBreakfast McSandwich. We'll call this McSandwich the Sausage McMuffin with Egg, since that is the name it is given on the menu and it is the same name that is on their nutrition fact sheet. It is not the name it is commonly known by.

I have travelled to many states and ordered this same McSandwich time and time again. I'm pretty sure there is not a state I have been in that the order taker has not become confused by my calling it by its proper name. The reason being is there is one ingredient (Other than lard) that is not in the name of the sandwich. Cheese. The sandwich is a simple English muffin (covered in lard), a sausage patty (pre soaked in lard), an egg patty (cooked in lard), and a slice of american "cheese." Yes, I know it is just congealed lard, but "American cheese" is the accepted term for that item. Since the name of the McSandwich does not include the term "cheese", many people assume you don't want the cheese when you order it properly. I can't count the number of times I have said into a craptastic microphone/speaker "No, I just want the sandwich from the #2 meal but not the meal."

Therefore I have come to the following conclusion:
It matters not what the proper name of something is, one must use the vernacular of the participants in order to obtain the proper results.

In related news, if you want one of these, it is best to say "Sausage egg and cheese McMuffin." I still prefer, and will continue to say "Sausage McMuffin with egg sandwich" because that is the proper name of it. Sometimes I'll get cheese, sometimes I won't. As a side note, when you don't get cheese it doesn't change the price (unlike in their hamburger/cheeseburger world.) No, I don't take them back when they don't have cheese on them. I prefer to have my food spittle free.

There were rats Dad. -- Indiana Jones

I am what most would consider a mouse potato. I don't watch much tv but I do spend a lot of time in front of a computer. The family heckles me about this from time to time but they never seem to be in the heckling mood when they need something done by me for their computers. Funny how it works that way.

I've only ever had one good mouse. It was a microsoft intellimouse 2.0. Its shape fit my hand perfectly. It was heavy and had a nice ball. It lasted until the cows came home and then stuck around until the chickens crowed. But I decided it was time to update to the laser jobbie so I wouldn't have to clean the mouse ball every Monday whether it needed it or not (and it always did need it.)

I figured since I loved my Microsoft intellimouse so much and since it was built like a tank I would purchase another Microsoft mouse and all would be good. The one I chose was called, I think, the Microsoft Blue. Because it is blue. After a couple of years of using this mouse I have two things to report.

1. It is a microsoft mouse.
2. It is not a tank.

The left click button is beat. To. Death. Sometimes it takes multiple hard clicks to get a single click out of it. Other times it will do multiple actions with one click. I dislike this very much. Luckily I purchased another mouse quite some time ago. I'm never one to be at a loss for computer peripherals. It is a logitech cordless mouse that I have been using for my work computer since I hated the dell mouse that came with my computer. Friday being my last day and all I believe I'll be ridding myself of the microsoft blue and never purchasing another.